


let's begin at the beginning

by grimmauld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 22:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19304863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauld/pseuds/grimmauld
Summary: The general rabble of the Great Hall fell silent, save for the nervous chatter of the newbies. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The poor first years who’d just come from sorting followed suit when they realised they were the only ones making noise. Oliver couldn’t think of a reason for it, it was a Friday evening and the only interesting thing was that they didn’t have any pumpkin pasties to eat. Then he turned in his seat and found the source of the quiet was simple. The doors were flung open. Marcus Flint was back for his repeat year. Oliver couldn’t drag his eyes away.---“I love you,” He said and then he leaned in and kissed him gently. They kissed and they kissed and they kissed under the cool glow of the moon that Oliver hung for Marcus. They kissed under the sky that Marcus held up for Oliver. They were teenagers, and they were in love.





	let's begin at the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'I Knew Prufrock Before He Was Famous' by Frank Turner.
> 
> hang with me on tumblr? gaylupin.tumblr.com
> 
> this is for sadie, happy birthday love ilysm!! go check out her tumblr because she's worth it oliivverwood.tumblr.com AND ALSO her ao3 is sadie18 <3

The general rabble of the Great Hall fell silent, save for the nervous chatter of the newbies. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The poor first years who’d just come from sorting followed suit when they realised they were the only ones making noise. Oliver couldn’t think of a reason for it, it was a Friday evening and the only interesting thing was that they didn’t have any pumpkin pasties to eat. Then he turned in his seat and found the source of the quiet was simple. The doors were flung open. Marcus Flint was back for his repeat year. Oliver couldn’t drag his eyes away. Oliver and Marcus’ rivalry was one to go down in history. If it weren’t for Malfoy and Harry in third year, they would be the tippity top of Hogwarts’ current rivalries.

 

Oliver had some begrudging respect for Flint, though. His skills in Quidditch were, admittedly, quite high and really, it took guts to return for a repeat year with such a completely new look.  ‘ _Yeah, he’s an okay chaser but I bet he couldn’t play keeper to save his life. I’d be alright at chaser, though,’_ Oliver thought to himself.

 

Yeah. Marcus of old was nowhere to be seen, the vaguely held together, posh look was gone. In its wake was this: he wasn’t in his robes. He was barely even in something that could be mistaken for the uniform. His shirt was black, the Slytherin tie haphazardly tied around his neck. He wore black skinny jeans and had Doc Martens on too, straight-laced tightly. Oliver trailed his eyes up the length of Marcus’ body to rest on his face. He was glad that his place at the Gryffindor table put him so close to the entrance of the Great Hall, because Marcus’ face. Wow. He had a septum piercing, that wasn’t new, he got it in what was supposed to be his only seventh year, but he now also had an eyebrow piercing and two on his bottom lip. Snakebites? Fitting. Someone from the Slytherin table whooped loudly, Marcus rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out toward them and _was that?_ Yep. Tongue piercing, too.

 

Oliver envied the way that Flint could just wear what he felt like. The newfound confidence Marcus possessed, wearing these clothes that he felt right in. Well, Oliver wanted that.

 

The newly minted punk sauntered over to his table and dropped like a rock into the seat next to Adrian Pucey. Oliver watched him go for a second but had to quickly turn back to his food, face flaring with heat. _Those skinny jeans were super tight._

 

**\---**

 

A few hours later and Oliver was finally able to take his mind off of the way Marcus’ strong legs looked in those skinny jeans. It was time for Quidditch practice. He threw himself head first into it, shouting orders with a strictness he usually saved for practise closer to the time of matches. His team was grumbling but went along with no questions after the scathing look he sent them. The deep red exercise top and black sweatpants (elasticated at the ankle) he was wearing felt like they were choking him. He pushed through it anyway and barked orders at the team. It was like he could feel every fibre minutely, each of them pressing against his skin like _‘We’re not supposed to be here. This isn’t right for you.’_ He doubled down on his training regime.

 

_‘Christ, what happened to Ollie?’_

_‘He’s acting like a wanker, honestly. What got his knickers in a twist?’_

 

Oliver tuned out their bitching and carried on with the training.

 

“C’mon Johnson, you can do better than that.”

“Weasley! Are you drunk on your broom? Get your head in it or take a walk!”

 

Then he saw it. Flashes of greens and greys. Fuck. The Slytherins all seemed to wear their house colours as their primary colour scheme for casual clothes days. A sea of green and silver, never mistaken for anything else. That sounded suffocating. He signaled a pause and flew to the ground. He dismounted and walked a few steps to be face to face with Flint. It felt a lot like last year, when Flint was his old self, vaguely rule abiding - at least where uniform was a concern. _‘To be fair, he was still hot back then’_ Oliver thought idly. This Flint was wearing black Adidas joggers, and an almost skin tight, long-sleeved dark green top.

 

It wasn’t a surprise to Oliver to realise that he had a bit of a thing for Flint. He was really good at Quidditch, had that same drive as Oliver himself, and he was a bloke, that’s really all he needed to be. Yeah, he was a tosspot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hot. It kind of made him a little bit hotter, in a weird way. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, when Oliver said ‘hot’ he knew most people wouldn’t think of Marcus ‘Troll Blood’ Flint. He was attractive to Oliver, though.

 

“We booked the pitch, Wood.”

 

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Nope.”

 

“What do you mean ‘nope’, knobhead, we have the fuckin’ pitch.”

 

Oliver quirked his lips and shook his head a little bit, “No. You either share or you walk.”

 

Marcus let out a frustrated, growled ‘Fine’ through gritted teeth. Oliver smiled triumphantly. The Slytherins trailed off the pitch, grabbing their brooms.

 

“Scrimmage!” Oliver called to his team. The two teams separated to each end of the pitch, Oliver gave a shout and chaos reigned. There was a flurry of colours, the focus of red and green painting spots in his vision, and the furious and brutal practise match progressed. They called a pause, the Slytherins. Adrian Pucey looked at Oliver and grinned cheekily, a mischievous glint in his eye. All of the brooms touched down and they reset. Each house moved to either end of the pitch once more, just far enough to be out of earshot but not far enough that Oliver couldn’t see every expression Flint made. The Slytherins huddled. Oliver was afraid of what they were about to do, not unaware of their lax views on cheating. He couldn’t help his eyes wandering to Flint once again. He looked good, sort of sweaty but mostly just determined, his face reddened from exertion. Then he straightened, looking vaguely angry at what one of his teammates said and glanced toward the Gryffindors. He and Oliver made eye contact. Oliver flushed at being caught staring. Marcus smirked a little. Then he whipped his training shirt off, thin green material flying over his head and being thrown to the stands.

 

 _Tattoos._ He was covered in tattoos. His arms were covered in swirling black ink that Oliver couldn’t separate into individual pieces from the distance. His chest had colour, one large piece with something that looked like roses creeping up to his collarbone. Oliver’s face flushed red as the roses on his chest. Marcus climbed back onto his broom and rose in the air. The Gryff’s and Slytherin’s followed suit quickly. Oliver tried to cast Flint from his mind and focus on winning the scrimmage. In the end, Slytherin won by one goal and Malfoy catching the snitch just seconds before Harry.

 

**\---**

 

Oliver was still reeling from the way that Quidditch practise had ended. His head was stuck in the clouds for the rest of the day. Marcus probably had some idea that Oliver was into him, Pucey _definitely_ did. Later that evening, when there were only a small group of sixth years that Oliver didn’t know remaining. There were also two of the three girls on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Angelina and Katie turned their attention onto him.

 

“Okay, what the absolute fuck, Oliver Wood?” Angelina said.

 

“Whaddaya mean?” He replied, easily pretending he had no clue what she was on about when he did in fact have at least a few clues. Both of them stared at him impatiently. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

 

“Fine.” They waited.

 

“So you know how I’m gay? Well I’ve discovered I have a teensy tiny massive crush on this one boy. I really don’t know where to go from here. We aren’t exactly friends. There’s another thing too. I really hate the way I look in- uhm- darker clothing. I dunno. It’s weird.”

 

“Ollie,” Katie started quietly, glancing over to the small group of sixth years none of them knew very well. “The boy, is it Flint?”

 

Oliver couldn’t believe she had caught on so quickly. He nodded, seeing no point in extending the inevitable.

 

“I- Uh- Yeah. Yeah it is. Flint. He looks really good in the dark clothes. The piercings suit him. And the tattoos. Not that he didn’t look good before, he did, I just really think he’s found a style that suits his, you know, personality. I’m rambling aren’t I? He’s just really hot. I don’t know.”

 

Katie smiled kindly at him, letting him ramble a little longer before gently interrupting.

 

“Let’s talk about the other thing, yes?” She asked. Angelina looked thoughtful.

 

“Wait there,” She said, urging Katie to stand up with her. “We’ll be right back.”

 

They walked across the common room and up the steps to the girls dorms. Oliver sat fidgeting in his seat, not quite sure whether he should do as they said or just go to bed. The common room was empty by now, the sixth years having left sometime during Oliver’s ramble. He was left alone with his thoughts, his head still sort of fuzzy from the influx of confusing feelings. When the girls returned they were holding a small pile of light coloured clothing. He spotted a pretty, lavender knit sweater that looked particularly cozy.

 

“Here, we grabbed some of our oversized clothes that aren’t too brightly coloured. It’ll tide you over until you can go shopping in the muggle world. We get to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, so you can wear it there. Try it out.” Angelina said, voice soft and kind.

 

“Speaking of trying it out, go pop some things on,” Katie cut in, “we need to know if they fit.”

 

He smiled gratefully at the two girls and slipped up to his dorm, clothes in arms. He tried to be quiet so as not to wake his dorm mates. The first thing he tried on was the lavender sweater. It fit well, a little short on the arms but not too tight, and was incredibly comfortable. He spotted a white tennis skirt. With a sharp intake of breath he picked it out of the pile. _‘It’s pretty’,_ he thought to himself, calculating eyes scanning the fabric quickly. _‘I don’t think I’m quite ready for it. I wish. I wish but no. Not right now.’_ He dropped the skirt on the floor and pulled on a pair of light blue jeans he already owned. He poked his head back down to the common room and invited the two waiting girls up to his room.

 

“Just be quiet, Percy’s sleeping.”

 

Angie started to root through the clothes, “I know I included this one- Aha!”

 

She pulled out a colour block crop-top in pink, purple and blue, and gestured for him to try it on. “We’ll have to get you some leggings for this, then you could wear it for training.”

 

“I think there’s a pair of grey joggers in there that might work,” Katie said.

 

He tugged off the sweater, and put the top on, the soft material brushing his skin delicately. The shirt finished just before his naval, a light trail of hair led down to the waistband of his jeans. They were right, he needed to be in less constrictive clothing with this shirt. He ushered them to turn around and he pulled on the joggers. They sat just above his hips and worked wonderfully with the crop top to highlight his abs and V.

 

“Ollie! You should wear that to training next time. Maybe we can crash Slytherin and force them to have another scrimmage with us. Marcus won’t be able to tear his eyes off of you. Plus, we need to regain championship.” Katie gushed.

 

He smiled at them lightly, a soft pink dusting his cheekbones. He was so grateful for them, they didn’t judge him for liking pastels and traditionally feminine clothing. He was so lucky to have them as friends.

 

“Tomorrow,” He promised, hugging them and sending them out of the dorm. Getting changed quickly, he cast a charm to nox the lights and crawled into bed.

 

“Pastels looked good, Ollie,” He heard Percy’s sleepy voice ring out in the dark, muffled from his face being pressed into the pillow. Well then.

 

**\---**

 

The next day, after classes had finished and Oliver knew that Slytherin had the Quidditch pitch booked he made good on his promise to Angie and Katie. He gathered up his team, told them to dress in whatever casual athletic wear they wanted (This is a scrimmage, not a practise) and marched them to the pitch.

 

“Flint!” He called. The other teen halted in his path, almost causing Pucey to crash into him, and slowly descended.

“What do you want, Wood?” He asked, almost a snarl, when he had finally landed and bridged the gap between them.

 

“We want another scrimmage.”

“And why should I do that?”

“You can’t deny both our teams got some good practise out of it. It’s not like the next game is tomorrow, you can spare this practise for the chance to win another competition. You won't, but you can try.” Oliver fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, hiding his crop-top effectively. Marcus eyed him warily but eventually acquiesced.

 

“Ten minutes. You’re not in robes, so we won’t be either.”

 

Oliver agreed and sent the Weasley twins and Harry to collect the team’s brooms from the shed. The Slytherin team returned not long after that, a small sea of black and green fabrics. Ollie looked down at his light grey joggers and felt good. He slowly unzipped his red windbreaker and tossed it toward the bleachers. There was a whistle from the left of him (it was Fred, the shit stirrer). Marcus had, once again, stopped dead in his tracks staring directly at Oliver with his jaw almost hitting the floor. The light colours on the crop top were even prettier in the natural light, and he looked _really_ good in it, if he did say so himself. He threw a smirk over his shoulder at Flint and mounted his broom.

 

“Are we fuckin’ ready!” He shouted, rallying his team. There was a collective cheer and both teams followed him up into the air. The second scrimmage in two days between Gryffindor and Slytherin commenced.

 

Thinking about it, Gryffindors and Slytherins had never gotten along. All of them were probably going with this whole scrimmage thing because they wanted the two sided pining to just stop. It was clear to Oliver at this point that Marcus at least thought he was attractive. They’d probably have a snog before the year was up, but anything more than that was up to Marcus. Not because of some ingrained and inherently sexist ideology that because Oliver was a tad more feminine than Marcus he had to be the one asked out. No, it’s more that both of them were stubborn little shits and it’s something sort of similar to a competition for them both.

 

Or maybe he was just scared.

 

This time Gryffindor won. It was close once again but they managed to scrape past at the last second. Oliver kept out most goals, but then so did Bletchley. Malfoy and Harry were neck-a-neck almost the entire practise but this time instead of Malfoy getting there seconds earlier it was Harry. Marcus was ruthless. That was to be expected. Higgs was in the bleachers not looking all too bothered at the fact that he was replaced by Malfoy. His eyes never seemed to leave Pucey.

 

Oliver felt far less constricted this match, the crop top was flowy and light and it felt good. Normal.

 

Oliver dismisses his team after the match, and hung around to reorganise the Gryffindor area in the broom shed. Not five minutes later Marcus walked in.

 

“Flint.” He said with a nod, aiming for civility that didn’t scream _desperate for you to snog me._

 

“Wood.” He replied.

 

They worked quietly for a moment, Oliver watching the way Marcus worried his one of his lip piercings with his tongue. That was hot.

 

“You- ah- you look nice in the pastels.” It looked almost as if he was blushing, but surely Marcus Flint wouldn’t be blushing over him?

 

“Th-Thanks. I like the whole punk thing you’ve got going on.”

 

Well, this was the most awkward experience of Oliver’s life. Marcus looked like he agreed with Oliver’s inner sentiments.

 

“Why did you decide to change your look, anyway?”

 

“Why is that any of your fucking business, Wood?”

 

Sore subject? _‘Stop pushing, idiot, it’s not your place. Just like he said, mind your own!’_ his brain shouted at him.

 

“I- I didn’t mean to yell. It’s nothing, anyway. Just felt like a change.”

 

That, quite obviously, was a boldfaced lie, but it still wasn’t Oliver’s place to push.

 

“Okay. Cool.”

 

And then he tucked his metaphorical tail between his legs and scampered out of the shed. His face burned the whole way back to the common room and when asked by his team all he could do was  give an embarrassed groan.

 

**\---**

 

Oliver was in the library, trying desperately not to cry over his charms homework when he heard the heavy _thud_ of textbooks landing on the table. He looked up to see a surly looking Marcus, pulling out a chair angrily and flopping into it. He was pretty much pouting, glaring evenly at the books.

 

“Alright?” Oliver asked.

 

The only reply he got was an annoyed _hmph._ He shook his head and refocused on charms, allowing Marcus his time to sulk.

 

“You any good at transfiguration?” Came the eventual question. Oliver smiled lightly and adjusted the light blue cardigan he had thrown over his school shirt and pants in lieu of robes.

 

“I’m alright. Perce is better, but I can hold my own if you wanted help.”

 

Marcus grunted and shoved the books more toward the centre of the table. Oliver calmly closed his charms work and pushed it aside.

 

They worked for about an hour, Marcus rubbing his thumb over a tattoo on his left wrist every time he was pleased with himself.

 

“What do your tattoos mean?” Oliver asked, when both of them had almost finished their work.

 

Marcus looked up, startled. “Oh. Uh, I have too many to go over now. It’s almost time for tea. I could tell you a few, though?”

 

Oliver nodded and he continued.

 

“This one on my arm was the first. ‘ _Let’s begin at the beginning’._ My Ma would say it a lot as I was growing up. Whenever I had news to tell her she’d say it. Then I was listening to some muggle music and it popped up again. ‘I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous’ by Frank Turner. You heard of it? Anyway, it’s originally a quote from Alice in Wonderland, I think.”

 

He showed Oliver two more, the quaffle was an obvious choice. The other one was different. It was a tiny ghost, more of a loosely falling sheet than something realistic. That old cartoon style.

 

“I felt like I died last year. Not my best time so I wanted to document my survival, because I did survive. I made it.”

 

Oliver listened intently to everything Marcus said. He was showing something of himself, something Oliver maybe didn’t deserve to hear.

 

“I’m glad that you made it,” He told the older boy softly. “You have so much still to do here, and I’m so proud of you for making it through.”

 

Marcus smiled at him. That’s a first. _I want him to smile more._

 

“You’re beautiful,” Oliver whispered, more to himself than to Marcus. He leaned closer, body moving of it's own accord. Marcus leaned forward too.

 

“No, but you are,” He whispered back, eyes flicking down to Oliver’s lips. And then they were kissing, in the quiet library with dusty lighting shining through a circular window. Sat at the old and creaking worktable. Their lips moved together with ease, almost like they were made to fit together. Maybe they were. Of all the things Oliver had seen since discovering he was a wizard at age 11, being made to love another person wasn’t the weirdest. They clicked, and everything clicked into place when they kissed. His arms wrapped around Marcus’ neck and pulled him infinitely closer.

 

-epilogue-

 

Oliver wandered into the Great Hall. It was a weekend and he was a muggle-born, so he wasn’t planning on wearing his uncomfortable robes all day. Instead, he was wearing a teal jumper with pink and white stripes tucked into that same white tennis skirt he had longed to wear before Easter break. That did raise the question of how Marcus knew about muggle fashion- and muggle music. Oliver wasn’t quite sure what to make of that but he cast it out of his mind and reached up to tug gently on his left earlobe. He had turned 18 over the break and had returned to Hogwarts for his final term with a small sheet ghost- to match Marcus’- inked just behind his ear. They made it.

 

He bypassed the Gryffindor table and walked over to his boyfriend. He heard an overly dramatic, offended gasp ring out behind him. One of the Weasley twins were gonna get their ass beat. He may be in pastel tones and short-shorts but he was still a _big and burly Quidditch Player._ He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

 

“Alright, babe?” He wrapped his arms around Marcus’ neck from behind, leaning down to hug him, whilst still standing.

 

Marcus grunted in response. He tended to revert to monosyllabic speaking when he was flustered. Oliver grinned unabashedly and pressed a kiss to Marcus’ head, before heading over to sit with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had a feeling that the feisty second year Ginny Weasley was aching to join the team. He wasn’t opposed. She had a lot of passion and a lot of potential. Ollie had already chosen Angelina to take over his captaincy for her final year next year. During the meetings he held with Angie to discuss the future of the team they had discussed who would replace him as keeper. They eventually settled on Ron Weasley, a good choice given the track record of his family. Hopefully Fred and George would show him the ropes and keep him focused.

 

He broke from his Quidditch reverie and reached for a serve of treacle tart.

 

Later that night, as he snuck out to meet Marcus on the Quidditch pitch, he was struck by that same thought from that morning. _How_ did _Marcus know about so many muggle things?_

 

They met on the pitch, kissed under the stars and sat on the bleachers.

 

“Marc,” Oliver started tentatively.

 

“Hm,” Marcus replied, still staring up at the stars, arm tucked around Oliver’s waist.

 

“Why do you know so much about muggle stuff? Fashion, music and all that?”

 

Marcus turned to look at him, grey eyes calculating. He sighed through his nose and started to speak.

 

“My Ma,” He said, Welsh accent poking through as it always did when his Ma was the subject of conversation. “She was a muggle. Loved everything about the wizarding world, loved my Da even more. It got her killed, though. I think so, at least. You know my Da, he’s- uhm- influential. I hate him. But she loved him, and I loved her. She hung my stars.” That was another thing Marcus had tattooed. _She hung my stars._ After he and Oliver had begun dating, he came back to school with _And you hung my moon_ underneath. Oliver had kissed him stupid for that.

 

“So yeah,” Marcus was saying, “I’m a half-blood. Don’t really go around saying it though. Half the Slytherins are right tossers and the other half are scared shitless.”

 

Oliver pressed his cold fingertips to Marcus’ warm jaw and turned his face so they were looking at each other.

 

“I love you,” He said and then he leaned in and kissed him gently. They kissed and they kissed and they kissed under the cool glow of the moon that Oliver hung for Marcus. They kissed under the sky that Marcus held up for Oliver. They were teenagers, and they were in love. Maybe soulmates were real, because Marcus was his everything.

 

The stars glimmered in the sky, three in a curve winking softly like the grin of a young mother.

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave comments and kudos i am STARVED


End file.
